Distractions
by lifeinahole
Summary: Killian Jones, deckhand of the pirate ship, the Jolly Roger, is tasked with distracting townspeople whilst the crew robs their homes. Instead, Killian ends up being distracted by a beautiful blonde interested in his drawings. (GutterFlower secret santa for ive-always-been-a-pirate on tumblr.) One-shot.


He was given one instruction as the rest of the crew filed off the ship and he was expected to follow: be a distraction.

Killian Jones, the deckhand of a pirate vessel, has no idea how to be a distraction. He has little idea of how to be anything but the coward of a man that has been pushed around, first as a slave, second as a working crew member, and now as a _distraction_.

While the crew of the Jolly Roger heads off for their nefarious doings, Killian is sent to the local tavern and inn, where the majority of the townspeople are said to be gathered for a Yuletide celebration. The last of the looters will come in when they've all done what they can to the homes of the celebrators, pick as much as he can from the rooms and the pockets of the patrons before collecting Killian to head back to the ship.

All he has to do is keep the occupants' attentions away from the men robbing them blind. He hates it. Hates the idea and his part in it, but this is how pirates do, as Blackbeard reminds him all the time. He still hates it.

Also, it's been an hour, and while he's had some timid conversations with some of the men and women that fill every corner of the common room, he's seen not a glimpse of the crew come through.

He finds a spare piece of parchment in his pocket, along with a pencil used almost to a nub. Killian carefully hooks the paper with the tip of his metal appendage to hold it in place while he sketches various scenes from the festival participants around him. With the sun just past setting, all the lighting is up to the candles set upon each table, a generous bonfire out in the courtyard, and the fire blazing in the inn's hearth.

It's as he's sketching a young couple dancing that a shadow falls across his paper.

"Excuse me, it seems you're blocking my – oh!" Looking up, Killian comes face to face with a blonde woman, her emerald eyes trained on the parchment where several sketches have taken rough shape. He's tempted to hide it away, to stuff it back in his pocket, or in the trash where it's more likely to belong. The blonde, in a bold gesture, pivots the drawings so she can see them better.

"These are really good," she says, smirk in place as she scans the whole page.

While she's focused on what he would barely classify as scratch marks, Killian's looking at her. She wears modest apparel as far as her breeches and blouse go, accompanied by tall riding boots and gloves, a vest over the blouse. Her hair is intricately, if not hastily, pulled back with braids woven throughout. His gaze is lost somewhere in the long line of her neck, so much so that he misses her words when she speaks again.

"I'm sorry, could you repeat that, lass?"

She chuckles low, eyes meeting his for a moment before continuing their perusal of one particular sketch of a man and a woman bent close together and smiling. "I said, do you do this for pleasure or payment?"

The way 'pleasure' rolls off her tongue makes him blush, the tips of his ears feeling hot. "Just some drafts to pass the time."

"That's a shame. These are better than most I've seen. Name's Emma, by the way," she adds, holding out her hand as she sits down across from him.

"Killian. And you're much too kind about my abilities," he says as he takes her hand for a moment before releasing it, trying to keep the awed expression off his face the entire time.

"And you're too hard on yourself." Her finger idly traces the line of a profile of the old man working the bar. "Maybe you can draw me?"

Immediately, Killian starts sputtering, finding any way to dissuade the beautiful woman across from him of the idea. "There's no way… I could never… I would never be able to do you any justice, milady."

There's a huff of a laugh, and she rolls her eyes before saying, "Please, it's not like you'll offend my delicate senses. I just want to see what I look like through your eyes." The smile that follows her statement is genuine and pleading, and Killian deflates, knowing he cannot say no.

-x-

She was given two instructions after the intelligence came in that there would be pirates ashore during the Yuletide festival: Find Killian Jones, and distract him.

It had not been difficult to find him, honestly, as Killian Jones was the only pirate who didn't _look_ like a pirate. Sure, he's dressed in all black and leather, and he has the appearances with the kohl smudged around his eyes, but the hook he uses in place of a hand had been pinning a piece of parchment in place, of all things. And his hand, while rough with work, was still capable of such delicate lines, no matter how much he protested their worth.

At her insistence, he had flipped the paper over and started sketching her. She tried to hold still, but she kept instead leaning over to get a look at the progress. It's not as if he was looking at her anyways; it seemed as soon as he began that it was all from memory. Quickly, her eyes and nose took shape, her hair a vague outline around her head, and he took longer for her lips, his fingers rubbing along the line to smudge the graphite a little, and she gasped at the delicate motion, how she could practically feel that caress along her bottom lip.

Well, they said find and distract him. They didn't define _how_ she should do so.

Above her, against the wall of the alley between the tavern and a blacksmith's shop, Killian stutters and stammers his praise, gratitude, and encouragement. Emma is not a harlot, but even she has moments where desire takes over all other instincts. His leathers are pulled down just enough, and Emma's hand and mouth work in tandem over his hard cock, moaning around the tip of him and holding back a smile when she hears the noise echoed from above.

His hook is embedded into the side of the tavern, and out of the corner of her eye, she can see his hand fluttering around in indecision, stroking her hair, scrabbling at the wall, clutching his own thigh… The last is a direct response to his impending orgasm, as Emma can feel his entire body tensing, coiling in on itself, and she hollows out her cheeks moments before he quietly cries out, and she swallows it all down.

Emma stands and carefully tucks him back away, watching intently as he gently shoos her hands away from the ties and does them himself. She's afraid that he'll lock back into the awkward persona that she met just a few hours before, but instead he's reaching out once the laces are done up on his pants, pulling her to him and kissing her hard. Her noise of surprise melts into a moan as his hand splays across her lower back underneath the vest, so she can feel the warmth of his skin transferring to hers.

The palace guards will be looking for her soon, if not already, and so it's with reluctance that she breaks away from his mouth. Her hand comes up to stroke along his jaw, flattening over his stubble as her thumb traces over a faint scar on his cheek.

"Killian, I want you to know it'll all be just fine," Emma says, and his expression morphs into one of confusion through the haze of post-climax.

"What're you talking about, love?"

Instead of answering, she shakes her head, pushing up onto her toes once more to give him a lingering kiss before extricating herself from his hold. Her hand seeks out and laces with his, and she pulls him back to the warmth of light spilling from the tavern. Almost immediately, two palace guards block their path, and Emma spares a moment's thought to her appearance, hoping they cannot tell where she's been. It's none of their concern.

"Princess, we've been looking for you," Leroy gruffs out, eyeballing Killian head to toe in wariness.

She feels Killian's hand tense in hers, the small gasp of shock and whispered repetition at her title, and she squeezes his hand once in reassurance, hoping he'll remember her earlier words.

"Are they all taken care of then?" Emma asks, and watches as both Leroy and the other guard nod once. "Very well then. I have an assignment of my own to carry out. I'll see you both back at the palace." They each nod again at her dismissal, disappearing back into the crowd as if they belong there, and Emma detours herself and Killian around the festivities.

Several times along the short trek to the palace, Killian tries to question her, but she reassures him that she'll explain soon, and repeats that it'll be okay. Just short of the gates, Emma stops short and twirls around to face Killian, pressing up on her toes to slide her lips over his just one more time, depending on what may come next.

-x-

The night had been a whirlwind since the moment she sat down, but nothing in the world seems to be moving quite as it should in his mind since the moment Emma's lips first touched his. She had glanced around nervously after that, standing quickly and pulling him out into the cooler night air and Killian had followed eagerly, his mind already whirring with possibilities brought to him by this beautiful lass.

And then, of all things, she had slid down to her knees in front of him, quick jolts of desire going straight to his cock as her tongue darted out to wet her lips as she freed him from the confines of his pants, and then he knew heaven the moment her lips wrapped around him.

It's been less than an hour since his orgasm, and he's now sitting with the same dazed expression he can't seem to shake. He's antsy, not sure about anything anymore. Why Emma seems to have hand-picked him, why the men in front of the tavern called her princess, why he's waiting in a plush sitting room, and who will meet him when the doors open once more. On top of all of that, he's still trying to grasp their activities in the alley, and what _that_ means.

The large oak door to his left finally opens, a flurry of red silk as the newcomer turns just as quickly to close the door behind her. Killian shoots up from the settee he's been perching on between bouts of pacing.

"Apologies, m'lady, but do you happen to – Emma!" His babbling words cease as soon as he looks up from the bow he'd given upon the woman turning around.

She looks different. Gone are the casual riding clothes. Instead, she's dressed in an elegant, yet still understated red gown, the sleeves of which hug her arms all the way to her wrists. Her hair is pinned up, still as hastily as before, but now there's a small tiara delicately placed on top of her head. Her cheeks are flushed, and he has the distinct feeling she's doing something she shouldn't be, much like the flush that had graced her features when she first kissed him in the tavern. She smiles, then, and he releases the breath that had backed up into his lungs at the sight of her.

"Hello again, Lieutenant Jones."

If Killian had managed to wrap his mind around anything that had occurred in the last several hours, it would all be lost again at the mention of that title.

"How do you know that name?" Killian asks hoarsely. It's been ages, _almost centuries_ , since anyone referred to him as such, and at the mere thought of it, he can practically feel the starched texture of his uniform pants under his sweaty palm.

"I know quite a bit about you, Killian." She pauses and crosses to him, taking his hand in both of hers as she says, "Know that I never lied to you tonight, but I left out some important details."

Killian straightens to his full height, aware for the first time in too long that he's been hunched forward, and recognizing that it's not a proper stance to be in amongst royalty. She smiles, seeing something in his demeanor that meets with her approval. She places a palm on his cheek, and Killian gasps at the intimate contact, still so foreign to him.

"My father will be in here in a moment, and all will be explained. Remember my earlier words, Killian. It'll all be okay." She kisses him again, but he's too stunned to respond. "And I'll be right here," she adds as an afterthought. Emma barely finishes speaking before the door opens and she leaps an appropriate distance away.

The man that walks in has an air of distinction, and Killian automatically bends in a bow as he hears Emma's murmured "Father," and he can see her haphazard curtsey from the corner of his eye. Killian straightens again, this time taking in the affectionate look the king gives his daughter before his gaze settles upon Killian.

"So, this is the long-lost Lieutenant Jones."

Everything beyond that statement is a blur when Killian reflects on it later. He had stammered over greeting the king, and the man had clapped him on the shoulder with a bit of a chuckle.

There was a brief explanation of how they knew of him: an old record in an old cabinet after the downfall of a corrupt king. A vague record of a Captain slain and his brother and Lieutenant sold off to slavery to pirates. From there, his existence was kept in mentions of tall tales and legends, one of which documented someone in the port overhearing the pirate crew mention deckhand Jones on a journey in from Neverland.

With the last trip into port in Arendelle, someone even spotted him and reported it to Queen Elsa, and news of Lieutenant Jones from so long ago hopped from kingdom to kingdom, telling that he not only lived, but that he still served on the _Jolly Roger_. Intelligence from that stop had also brought word that they'd be making port in Misthaven soon, and were going to attempt to rob the villages outside the palace walls blind, if they could, and the King and Queen finally decided they'd had enough.

A plan to head off the pirates was implemented, with one person sent to find and occupy Killian's time whilst the rest of the crew was rounded up. Killian's eyes had flitted then to Emma, which King David noticed and sent Emma an admonishing look.

Emma, though, had stared right back at her father, until the royal gave a long-suffering sigh and rolled his eyes.

"It also seems," David continued as he looked back at Killian, "that my daughter has taken a special interest in your artistic abilities."

He was invited to stay, with reparations to be made for his lost years of servitude, and a handsome compensation for the loss of his brother and for the mistreatment of his person. It all seemed too good to be true.

And yet, it's the middle of the night, and Killian is still sitting up on the overstuffed mattress of his new bed, the fire happily sputtering away in his suite. He knows there are two men just outside the door, just as a precaution until he gets settled in. He cannot imagine living anywhere but the ship, nor can he even dream of what it'll be like to not be under the command of a pirate.

There's a small commotion outside his door, in which he hears what he thinks to be Emma's voice giving a strongly worded command, before the door opens a crack.

"May I come in?" Emma asks. "I saw the firelight under the door. Figured you may still be awake and processing everything."

Killian makes a vague gesture for her to enter, embarrassed all at once that he's in nothing more than the cotton breeches and shirt they gave him to sleep in. Emma doesn't seem to be concerned with his lack of proper addressing, and comes to sit at the edge of the bed. Her shift and robe swish about her legs as she walks, revealing the slippers and bare ankles beneath, and her hair falls in waves around her shoulders now that it's completely loose. No matter what state he's seen her in now, and there have been three very contrasting versions of Emma Swan that he's met, he cannot think of her as anything less than stunningly beautiful.

It's only once she's seated that he realizes his hook and brace are on the table, and he half-hides the blunted end of his left arm under the blankets. He no sooner does this than Emma catches the glint of the fire off the metal, and she glances once at the now-covered appendage before looking back at his face.

"I'm not always quite so forward," she begins, and it takes a moment for him to realize she's talking about their earlier exploits, rather than the blatant perusal of his arm. "I got a little carried in the moment, but I would like to begin officially courting you."

"Courting me? Shouldn't that be the other way around, your highness?"

"None of that formal title, Killian. And I should've known you would be old fashioned given your age. What are you, three hundred?"

He chortles, reaching his hand over to clasp one of hers. "You'll have to forgive me, lass. I went straight from the Navy to a life of servitude under pirates. I'm not fully up to date on the customs of the land."

"This is true," she muses, lifting their joined hands to softly press her lips to the back of his.

The desire to feel her body pressed against his own overwhelms him, and before he can change his mind on the matter, he's tugging on her hand, and she gives a sly grin as she complies and sidles up the bed until she's astride his lap, her slippers kicked off hastily in the process.

"I still believe we are doing this courting thing backwards, love."

"No matter, as I knew who you were long before I walked into that tavern tonight," Emma replies. She moves her hands to his shoulders, slowly sliding them until they rest on either side of his neck, and the tips of her fingers slide into the hair at the base of his scalp. "You see, once there was a lonely princess, who wandered the halls of a palace, prying where she was told not to disturb a single sheaf of paper, and she stumbled across an old account of treachery and piracy. And there she learned the name of one Lieutenant Killian Jones." She bites her bottom lip as she smiles, presses her body a little closer to his.

"And one day, several years after engrossing herself in the tale, a message from Arendelle came that stated the pirate ship would dock in our harbors, and a rescue mission was planned, and a princess snuck out of the palace so that she could be the one to find you, and then she saw you…" Here she trails off, her hands shifting further into his hair.

His eyes are wide, and his jaw slack with awe as she tells her story, as her eyes glance over every inch of his face from hairline to jaw, pointed ear to pointed ear, and he can wait no longer. He sits up further at the same time he pulls her closer, and her lips are waiting for his as she sighs into the contact. He forgets all about the proper way of courting as she shrugs out of her robe and yanks her entire shift over her head, revealing her bare skin to his hungry gaze.

-x-

It's nearly two years later that they're locked away in the same room, the entire staff of this wing cleared out for the time being to give them privacy, and Killian half-heartedly reproaches Emma as she moves yet again.

"Please lie still, my Queen," he grumbles, focusing again to see how she's shifted this time, making sure her pose and the image before him match.

"Apologies, husband, but there seems to be a tiny pair of feet in my bladder, and I'm afraid it's a little uncomfortable." The mirth is sparkling clearly in her eyes, even as she raises an eyebrow at him in challenge.

"You're the one who insisted on the portraiture before the babe was born, love." He pitches his voice in a practiced move. " _Oh darling, you_ must _capture the image before he arrives. And then we'll recreate it every year on his birthday._ " As he glances away from the canvas and sees her expression, he laughs loud and clear.

"I do not sound like that," Emma insists, all while fighting back a smile. "And I still think it's going to be a girl. And she will have you wrapped around her finger in no time, just like her mother did."

"Aye, that you did, love. And I wouldn't change a single moment of it."


End file.
